And the Sky Remembers What Time Forgets
by Amphytrion
Summary: Legolas wonders about a change that took place in Aragorn which allowed him to lead Middleearth to victory. A series of memories help him to piece things together. This story is NOT slash. Please R&R. UPDATE: I've been working on editing this 06.25.07.
1. Peace

**Note:** This story deals in the 'present' day of Legolas' thought as well as a few flash backs he experiences. The latter will be placed after or between horizontal lines.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own these characters or anything about them.

Legolas sat, contemplating. His golden hair fell free; his shirt was loose about him, and his feet were bare. It had been months since he last had time to just...lounge, and that was what he was doing. So, on a plush seat of black velvet and silver tooling, Legolas sat and thought. He thought about the War; he thought about the news he had received from his father in Mirkwood, and he thought about his friends and lost comrades. But mostly, the prince thought about his friend Aragorn. Somewhere between Rivendell and Gondor, Aragorn had outgrown the shell he wore and become who he truly was, who Middle-earth needed him to be. What the elf wondered, though, was exactly when the change had occurred.

The shift could not have been overnight; no, Legolas would have noticed that, but it was a recent change. For so many years Aragorn seemed content to live below his place, probably more out of fear than anything else. Healthy fear–fear for what he believed he could become. How many had attempted to persuade him otherwise? Elrond, for one, and Arwen. And Legolas had done his share of trying. From the first days of their friendship, when Aragorn was still very young by the reckoning of elves, he had hidden from his destiny. . .

* * *

'Estel, watch out!' Legolas cried as an arrow flew from his grip toward the youth. He flinched as he saw that the young man did not move quite fast enough and took a small wound from the gilded tip of the arrow. 'Ai!' he shouted, and ran toward Estel, who stood still with shock. His eyes drifted down to the tear in his fine shirt, and they widened impressively as he surveyed the blood leaking from his body. 'Do not fear, Estel,' the elf soothed, 'it is not as bad as it looks.'

The boy's eyes remained large as long, deft fingers attended to his wound. For an archer, Legolas had surprisingly gentle hands with little of the rough callous that Estel had imagined he might have grown from so many years with a bow. The prince tore fabric from his own tunic and wiped the blood from the cut before tearing a few more strips that he tied tightly around the boy's sore arm. Estel watched with interest as the fabric slowly absorbed the blood, and even more interest as the elf tried to counter it with more fabric. Estel supposed it really was not as bad as it looked, or felt, and he imagined that the damage to his pride was far worse. What was he doing that got him into this? Oh, yes, he remembered. He had been wandering through the woods, aimlessly, sorting out his life and what meaning it could have when he stepped into the clearing where Legolas practised archery on his visits to the valley. Legolas had warned him; he just could not move fast enough. The elf, he realised, probably felt worse than he did.

'I am sorry, Estel,' Legolas said in a soft voice. 'Please forgive me; I did not pay enough attention to my surroundings,' he said. His eyes were sad, yet almost glowing with a pale light through glass. Estel saw that the elf was deeply troubled, and he felt even worse.

'No, Legolas,' he said, 'It is I who was not paying attention. I knew you practised here, but I was lost in my own world of thought, and. . .' he trailed off.

'And?'

Estel looked up; his hair had fallen over eyes the colour of the ocean at night, and his mouth hung open. 'I do not know. I was just thinking,' he said. 'Thinking about everything.' For the first time since he had arrived in the clearing, Estel saw Legolas smile. It was a soft, friendly smile that warmed his heart. The elf always made him feel better.

'You worry too much, my young friend. You are not even an adult to your won people, yet you carry a burden that would be too much for many,' Legolas said. 'Do you not desire to be free of this toil?'

'Toil?'

'I see you often, Estel; I see you walking aimlessly through the halls, or lying in the grass and staring into the sky, yet I do not know what it is that you seek. And I do not know why you should expect to find whatever it is in the forest or the stars.'

'I do not know myself,' said the boy. He shook his head and sighed. 'There is always a lot on my mind.'

The sound of bells rang from Legolas' throat as he laughed and patted the back of his young friend. He shook his head and began to lead the boy toward Elrond's house, where he would be properly treated for his wound. 'You are so young, and yet so old, for you are already weary with life,' he said, and Estel was not sure if it was for his ears or the elf's own amusement. Legolas searched the face of the boy for any sign of what troubled him, but all he could see were deep wells of thought and a flicker of something so distant and brief that he was not sure it even existed. Could it be fear? 'You are concerned with your blood,' he said quietly.

Estel knew what the elf meant, but chose to ignore it and shook his head, 'Nay,' he said. 'You were right; it is not as bad as it looks. I am sure to forget it by tomorrow.'

'Do not insult my intelligence, my young friend. For I was counting the springs of millennia past before you were born,' Legolas spoke softly. 'Do not fear these things, Estel; you are your own man. One day you will see that, as your friends already do.'

Legolas' words danced through Estel's head, but he did not reply. He only turned them over in his mind and brought them up against the heavy doubt he carried against himself. The rest of the path to Elrond's home was silent, save the soft singing of Legolas.


	2. A Bright Hobbit

**Note:** This story deals in the 'present' day of Legolas' thought as well as a few flash backs he experiences. The latter will be placed after or between horizontal lines.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own these characters or anything about them.

Footsteps brought Legolas out of his reverie, and he turned to see who approached. It was Pippin, one of the hobbits whom the elf loved dearly. He smiled merrily as the little one approached and bowed before him. 'My Lord Prince of Mirkwood,' said Pippin in a very dignified voice.

Legolas laughed and bade his friend to sit. 'What nonsense are you up to now, Peregrin Took?'

'None, I suppose, at least, none of any matter. I have desired to pay you the respect due to one of your position, is all, and I had my opportunity just now.'

'Ah,' Legolas said, his lips dancing into a lingering smile. 'It is not your concern, my friend, for I would be wearied by your formality. My name is Legolas; that is the name that was told to you upon our meeting, and that is the name I would prefer you to call me, Pippin.'

Pippin smiled brightly and nodded; strawberry-blonde curls bounced as he did so, and the crystal meadows of his eyes flickered in the light. 'I would have it no other way than your desire, Legolas,' he said, leaning against the more than substantial back of his chair. Legolas watched him cross his dangling legs and produce his pipe in a swift motion. His face creased with happiness as he winked at his elven companion and smiled around the tip of the pipe as he filled and lit it. 'So, Legolas,' he continued, 'what are you doing here, all alone on a balcony?' He paused to blow the first ring of smoke into the air and watched with fascination as it rose above them. 'Surely you are not already so tired of our humble company that you must retreat to these sunny places?' There was humour in his words, but Legolas sensed something else: worry.

'The day that I am wearied by your company is the day that the sky breaks open and the stars pour out, Pippin,' he said.

'And I shall hope that never happens!' Pippin said as he laughed like bells rang. 'Yet, you have left my question unanswered.' He blew a puff of smoke and tapped his lips with his pipe while he stared at the elf, curious about everything and nothing all at once. 'What brings you here, Legolas? What causes your head to ring with thoughts?'

Legolas tossed his head back and laughed; if ever he'd thought Peregrin Took dim-witted, he'd been mistaken. 'I consider many things this day, Pippin,' he said. 'Not the least of which is your bravery, and that of your kin.' He noticed that the hobbit was still staring at him curiously and puffing his pipe, not yet satisfied with the answer provided. 'Yet, I suppose my greatest thoughts lie with Middle-earth, and they dwell on the many changes that have taken place here, and I wonder how many more are still to come,' he said, hoping he appeased his friend. It was not that he had a desire to hide his true thoughts, or, at least, the true nature of his thoughts; it was that he was not yet sure enough about them to speak properly of what they meant, or if they meant anything at all. Pippin nodded and smiled appreciatively. His green eyes were shining with merriment, and Legolas could have sworn it was the day they met all over again, for as much as Aragorn had changed, the hobbits seemed to have remained the same. There was a lot to be said for the easy-going nature of their kind.

'I wonder of such things, too,' Pippin said, quietly. 'I wonder about the Shire, and I wonder about Rivendell,' he paused for a moment, and a shadow passed over his face before he said, 'And sometimes, I think about Boromir.' Concern filled the eyes of Legolas, and he leaned forward to place a long arm around Pippin's shoulders for comfort. Neither of them spoke again; they were content to look over the railing to the splendour of the sky in silence, leaving Legolas to once again drift into his thoughts. . .


	3. Insignificant Blades of Grass

**Note:** This story deals in the 'present' day of Legolas' thought as well as a few flash backs he experiences. The latter will be placed after or between horizontal lines.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own these characters or anything about them.

* * *

Legolas wandered through the many halls of Elrond's house until he came upon the balcony he sought: the balcony on which stood Estel, or Aragorn, as he had chosen to be called among the Rangers of his company. The elven prince had recently traveled to Imladris on errand of his father, and to visit his distant kindred, and, when he learned that his friend could be found among the halls, he was delighted. He gave a shallow bow and smiled merrily at Aragorn's notice. Good day, Aragorn.'

The man's dark eyebrows rose and fell with his head in an appreciative nod. He smiled and turned his gaze back to the gardens. 'The tidings of your journey reached my ears this morning,' he said. 'It is luck that I was here for your arrival, my friend.'

'My luck, to be sure,' Legolas nodded as he stepped close to the railing to join the man. 'And what other tidings have reached your ears?'

'None, I suppose,' Aragorn sighed. 'At least,' he continued, 'none that you would not have also heard.'

'Do you want to know what it is that I have heard?'

Aragorn turned his steel eyes upon the elf and frowned thoughtfully. 'What do you mean?'

Legolas laughed and patted his back. 'That you have grown too serious. I understand, from two dear friends of mine here, that you have grown absolutely boorish.' His elven face remained straight, even as the man sighed and rolled his eyes at the mention, which told Legolas that it was, indeed, something he had heard. Legolas could no longer retain his laughter and it flooded the air with merriment, though it was shattered upon the walls of Aragorn's hard exterior. The elf frowned. 'It is true, then.' Aragorn looked away and ignored his friend's words, returning his gaze once more to the plush gardens below. 'Aragorn,' Legolas said, 'You cannot do this. You must allow for some happiness, even when you feel dark. I know that your years have not all been pleasant, but I promise you that mine have not either, and I have lived far more than you.'

'Oh, Legolas, please do not begin with that again.'

The elf smiled and nodded, but there was a glint of mischief in his marine eyes. He leaned over the railing, letting his hair fall past his shoulders and dangle in the air while he hung from his waist. His laughter rang through the surrounding trees as he felt the breeze tickle his scalp through loose strands of hair, and he ignored the pleas of Aragorn to stop acting foolish on such a high balcony. With less than a moment's thought, Legolas gracefully flipped over the sculpted railing and flew toward the ground in a manner that Aragorn could only describe as 'fast floating' before landing lightly on his feet. He lay on his back in the soft grass and laughed at his friend above.

'Are you mad?' gasped Aragorn, whose face was a mix of surprise and annoyance. 'You could have broken your neck!'

'I was not trying to break my neck, Aragorn.'

The man rolled his eyes and sighed, but he knew that there was no logic that Legolas could counter with his nonsense, and it was nonsense. He kicked one leg over the railing and managed his way down the lattice and vinery on the walls until he had climbed far enough that he felt safe jumping. Legolas smiled at him and remained lying on the ground, searching the face of his friend for any hint of his thoughts.

'If I choose to brood, I will brood,' Aragorn said.

'At least,' the elf sighed, 'you are honest about it.' He said no more for a long time, and there were no other noises to be heard that were not of the earth during their mutual silence. Legolas stared only at the sky and watched the filmy clouds overhead as they drifted and soared above, while Aragorn sat with his back rigid and stared at the grass. His eyes focused on one blade, and he imagined that he were the small blade: he stood among many, yet he was still alone, only one small person. He let his eyes slide to a nearby flower that dotted the grass and sat just higher than the green blades. Its petals were the bluest hue not of the ocean, and they were long and graceful; tranquility flowed from its leaves into the surrounding foliage, and it seemed as though from that one plant the rest of its immediate space was brightened. He supposed that if he were a tiny blade of insignificant grass, Legolas must be like a lovely flower that shone among its peers, as would be any other elf. Aragorn sighed and looked at his friend, who, he discovered, had taken his gaze from the sky and was staring intently at him.

'What do you think, my friend?' asked Legolas, and he sat up to look evenly into Aragorn's eyes, 'and how do you expect you should find it among the many lovely things on the ground?' His golden head tilted as he hugged his knees to his chest and awaited his friend's response, but none came. He still stared.

Aragorn could feel holes burning into his head as Legolas watched him. He knew that, eventually, the elf would discover whatever he wished to know. It was silent for some time after that thought occurred to him, and, even when Legolas began to sing a quiet, eerie melody in his own language, Aragorn did not speak, but he listened. It did the man little good to feign anger or disinterest, and he was, in fact, happy for the concern of his friend, even if it was annoying. He knew well that he was burdening himself with dark thoughts, and he knew that it affected his behaviour, but he also knew the history of his line, and that terrified him.

'I do not know how many times I, or Elrond, or anyone else must tell you not to worry about the past as much as the future,' said Legolas when he guessed Aragorn's thoughts. 'Hearken these words, my friend; the time is soon coming that you will be needed by your people.'

'Over and over you give me advice,' Aragorn shouted suddenly. 'And yet, never have I asked it of you!' Legolas did not move or speak, and that bothered Aragorn just as much as when he did. 'Did you really come to attend to matters of your father, or was that just an excuse to badger me, Legolas? You name me friend, yet you constantly plague me with unfounded observations of who you think I am or you who and everyone else want me to be!' he said, not in a quiet voice, and he quaked where he now stood above the elf and awaited a reply. Surely, Legolas would not stand to be spoken to in such a way, would he? But the elf remained silent and only stared at Aragorn, or through him, as it were, which only enraged the man even further. 'Damn you,' he stammered, and he clenched his fists, 'Does nothing awake your heart or thoughts but my own when you consider them defunct?'

Then, Legolas rose with the grace of waves upon a shore, and though he was only barely taller than Aragorn, the man felt as though he towered over him. The wind picked up a little and blew golden hairs between them; Legolas' eyes said nothing, though he was full of emotion inside. He did not blame Aragorn for his outburst: it was the nature of his people, but he had no desire to experience it any longer. If the man could not accept himself, if he could not see that he was now taking his frustrations out on the friends who tried to help him, Legolas would not listen to his outcries that echoed themselves with self pity any longer. In contrast to his own, the elf noticed that Aragorn's eyes were flooded with emotion; it poured from his sockets in lieu of tears as he stared at Legolas and waited for a response. The elf guessed that he expected some sort of physical assault in retaliation, and that was half of what was wrong. Legolas only shook his head and finally let his sadness show in expression. His voice was icy, though it melted as it found its way out. 'Good day, Aragorn,' he said, and he walked smoothly out of the path of his friend and disappeared into the halls of Elrond.

* * *

'The sun is setting,' said Pippin, 'I've never seen so much colour in the sky.'

Legolas was a touch startled from memory, but he nodded and smiled. 'Aye, and neither have many, for a long time. The destruction of Sauron pleases all the world.'

The hobbit nodded and was silent for a while longer as they watched the sky paint itself for night. He looked up at Legolas, though, and in a quiet voice asked, 'Legolas, why were you sad a moment ago?'

'Memories,' said the elf. He smiled sadly and shook his head. 'Some are not as pleasant as others.'

Pippin nodded and frowned a little. He had noticed that Legolas was keeping whatever the real issue in his head was from him, and he had tried not to let it bother him, or not to take it personally. Elves were strange folk; the hobbit knew that, but he still felt a great need to know what troubled his friend, and that Legolas was avoiding it bothered him. 'You must have a lot of those,' he said, 'memories, I mean.'

'Yes,' Legolas whispered, 'many memories, indeed.' He closed his eyes and sighed more noticeably than he would have liked.


	4. When History Repeats

**Note:** This story deals in the 'present' day of Legolas' thought as well as a few flash backs he experiences. The latter will be placed after or between horizontal lines.

**Chapter Note:** There are parts of the dialog in this chapter that are lifted directly from the text of The Fellowship of the Ring. I will place them in italics to separate them from the rest of the story. I know I could have changed what they said, but I think Tolkien knew what he was doing when he chose those words, and I think it's better to keep them that way.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own these characters or anything about them.

* * *

Legolas smiled at the colours of autumn as they presented themselves splendidly along the road to Imladris. He laughed with his fellow riders at the birds and squirrels as they played among the trees and enjoyed the beautiful day while it unfolded into a pleasant afternoon. He stroked the mane of his horse and sang softly to himself. The path to the hidden valley was breathtakingly beautiful, but it did not entirely block out the reservations Legolas felt about his visit. The elf had reasons other than the precarious situation in which Middle- earth was finding itself to fret about what was not going to be a peaceful visit. Legolas had not spoken with Aragorn in several years, not since the man had unloaded on him. They didn't even speak in the recent months that brought Aragorn to Mirkwood. No, the silence was louder than any words could have been during that visit. And, to be sure, there would be words once Legolas' primary reason for making his journey to Elrond's city became clear.

He did not know exactly how it came about, but Gollum escaped, and elves died in the process. Mirkwood elves. There was an emptiness in Legolas' heart that he was certain could never be filled after what he had witnessed. Death was not entirely new to him, but he was less familiar with it than mortals, and it stung him bitterly and deeply. He had known those elves for thousands of years. Sorrow was not unknown to him, but it did not come any easier because of wisdom. Legolas could not linger on his thoughts of death, for they fast approached the halls of Elrond, where he would be expected to explain a lot that he did not want to explain.

The Council of Elrond was a nasty affair, or, at least, it was for Legolas. At any other time, he would have been delighted to be surrounded by so many people with so many stories, especially Gandalf and Elrond, but today he was going to have to drop news that would likely devastate many of the people around him, and, worst of all, he would have to say it in front of Aragorn. The man had spent much of the Council avoiding his gaze. Even when he spoke, his eyes seemed to pass over Legolas. And the news the Ranger provided, along with what Gandalf had to say, showed Legolas' tidings to be far worse than he had imagined. He could no longer delay in his delivery.

'_Alas, alas_!' he cried, and he was much distressed. His face felt tight with his emotions as he told the Council that Gollum had escaped. Any relief he might have felt from letting go the news was quickly dissipated when Aragorn spoke in response.

'_Escaped_?' he said, almost disbelieving. Gollum got away from Mirkwood? How could that be possible? He glared and spoke in a voice far more harsh than he would have liked. '_That is ill news indeed. We shall all rue it bitterly, I fear._' There was a look on Legolas' face that told Aragorn he should stop talking, immediately, but he continued, and his words jumped out with bitterness. '_How came the folk of Thranduil to fail in their trust?_' As soon as he said it, he realised he had gone too far. He did not need the ice of Legolas' reply to cool him off, but he received it.

Legolas narrowed his eyes and spoke through tight lips, biting out the words with frost on his voice, slowly. '_Not through lack of watchfulness,' he said; 'but perhaps through over-kindliness_.' He spoke on, telling of the day that Gollum escaped during an attack, and he even welcomed the interruption of the Dwarf so that he could calm himself before finishing his tale. Gandalf seemed far less distressed than Legolas would have guessed, but it did nothing to thaw the cold of his mind as he stared through tight eyes at Aragorn.

The rest of the Council went on with no further interaction between Aragorn and Legolas, at least, not in the form of audible conversation. The man allowed himself to become enraged with the elf, simply because he realised that Legolas was angry with him, and even though he knew it was arbitrary and probably undeserved, he allowed it to grow until Elrond called for the Council to end and he went immediately to follow the elf into the gardens. There were words in his heart.

'What is it, Aragorn?' asked Legolas, who heard the heavy footfalls of the man trailing behind him. He did not turn around, but he could imagine the look on his friend's face, at least, he had fairly certain it was the same expression Aragorn had painted on for the bulk of the afternoon. Legolas' blue eyes closed and he sighed, finally turning to meet the eyes that stared at him. 'What is it, Aragorn?' he asked again.

'You elves would be better served with shorter memories,' spat Aragorn, and he clenched his fists at his sides. He had no idea why he was so furious; he only knew that he was, and that it was entirely directed at Legolas.

'Pardon?'

The quizzical look on Legolas' face softened Aragorn's heart a little, but not enough to stop him from uttering what he realised was the stupidest thing he had ever heard. Of course, he only realised that after he said it, and by that time, he expected death to come quickly at the pale hands across from him. He said, 'Oh, can you no longer read my mind, friend? You were once so good at it, as I recall.'

'Aragorn,' said Legolas, smoothly; 'If you are accusing me of something, decide of what, and say it.'

'Surely you can forget actions from years past long enough to do your duty to this land,' spat Aragorn. He was more annoyed by the lack of response from Legolas than he thought he would have been by the reply he expected, and he realised that Legolas must think him merely daft and not worth his emotion. 'Surely you, Legolas, of all people, understand the importance of these days! How could you let the creature escape merely to spite me for words said decades ago? Or is it not so long ago in your raging heart?'

At this, Legolas' gaze caught fire and nearly melted the steel of Aragorn's eyes. He narrowed his eyes and breathed in, deeply, before stepping close enough to the man in front of him that his hair whipped around Aragorn's shoulders as the wind blew, seemingly to aid Legolas in making clear his point. His voice drifted from behind clenched teeth, lined with ice and fire and raw feeling. 'Do you not hear yourself, Estel? Can you not understand what you are saying, truly?' He paused, but never glanced away from Aragorn. 'Elves died that day, elves who were fighting for this land, in these days. Orcs came, Estel, and surely you can remember Orcs, if you remember nothing else.'

The use of his elf-given name was not lost on Aragorn, and he closed his eyes tightly to seal out the pain emanating from Legolas. When he next opened them, Legolas was shaking his head sadly. His marine eyes were darkened with his feelings, even as his hair sparkled in the sunshine. Aragorn opened his mouth to reply, but could think of nothing. He was a fool, but he didn't think telling Legolas of his knowledge would be enough to fix the damage. He watched as Legolas turned and began to slide away over the grass, and reached out to catch a deceptively slim wrist. 'Legolas,' he whispered, but the powerful flexing of the elf's arm told him to let go, and he instantly dropped his grip. The eyes told him not to speak, only to watch as he once again drove his best friend from the gardens.


	5. Finding Hope

**Note:** This story deals in the 'present' day of Legolas' thought as well as a few flash backs he experiences. The latter will be placed after or between horizontal lines.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own these characters or anything about them.

'You're doing it again,' Pippin said, extremely concerned. He had been watching Legolas for nearly a half hour; the sun had set entirely and the sky was a dark velvet canopy with glittering jewels spread impressively above. 'You're looking sad.' 

Legolas nearly jerked into awareness, feeling deeply touched by his memory, and he smiled at his small friend. 'I do not mean to worry you, Pippin,' he said; 'I was remembering something from not so very long ago.'

'The Balrog?' he asked, and he shivered when a shadow passed over Legolas' face.

'No,' replied the elf, 'Not the Balrog.' He felt a sigh of relief escape his friend and smiled. 'Do not trouble yourself with me, little one. I will be fine. Look at the sky; see how the stars shine for our victory?' Pippin only nodded. 'Truly, this is a blessing from Elbereth herself.'

'Elbereth? I heard elves singing of her once,' said Pippin, and his eyes seemed to glow from fond memory.

'Oh? In Rivendell?'

'No, no, not in Rivendell. In the forest, when we were leaving the Shire. We met elves there; Gildor was their leader, or, at least it felt like he was. I suppose I wouldn't know.'

Legolas smiled and patted Pippin's shoulder gently. 'You know more than you realise,' he said. He smiled further as Pippin leaned closer. It was probably the first time in a long time that the little hobbit felt completely safe, and he was glad of it, glad enough that he began to forget the pain of his memory, glad enough that he could remember other, happier things. 'Would you like me to tell you about Elbereth and her mighty peers?'

'Oh, yes! Please tell me, Legolas; I should like to hear, to be sure!'

Bells rang from Legolas' throat as he laughed and began to sing a song he had learned when he was a child. He stretched his legs out in front of him to rest his feet on the railing and closed his eyes as he sang, but his thoughts drifted away into other places. This time, though, the hobbit was too entranced by the sound of Legolas' voice to notice that the elf was only there in sound.

* * *

Legolas hummed quietly to himself as he neatly tied his bowstring and moved on to polish the dark wood of the bow itself. His wrist flexed as he moved a small fold of cloth over the gilded curves of the object, and he focused all of his attention on the task. He was taught when he received his first bow that he ought to put as much effort into taking care of it as he did anyone or anything else on which his life might one day depend. And since he was headed for the most evil place in Arda, surely he could spare time to polish his bow. Yet, thoughts of putting effort into care for things, especially people, on whom he must depend were not comforting. Truly, he would have to find a way to coexist with Aragorn, but the man was teetering on absolute irreverence, and Legolas did not have any wish to deal with that. He had no doubt that Aragorn knew his error, and that he in fact knew it was an error, but he also knew what men tended to be like, and how they behaved, and even if he did not know why, he knew that it was likely that Aragorn would not be the first to attempt any sort of mend on their friendship. 

The elf sighed and laid his bow gently on the surface of a desk in the chambers provided for him by Elrond. He closed his eyes and rubbed his hands over his face, supposing that he should break from his preparation. It had been many weeks since Elrond proclaimed that they would set out, and that he would be in the company of the Nine Walkers, and that so too would Aragorn. Of course, it did not surprise him that he and Aragorn were both chosen; Aragorn was a king of men, whether he chose to admit it or not, and Legolas knew himself to be an admirable warrior and wise enough of the land to be of more use than only an archer, as skilled as he was. He also looked forward to an opportunity to make up for what was clearly considered a failure on the part of Mirkwood. All of that aside, Legolas was proud to have been chosen.

The sun was just over its mid-day point, and Legolas felt a breeze rush its way through his loosed hair as he stood by his window. He smiled when the fresh scent of Imladris filled his nostrils, and he decided that it was a good time for a quick bit of target practise. He picked up his bow from the desk and reached for a quiver of arrows that he could fasten around his waist, then slipped out of his room and outside into one of the gardens. The path to his usual practise area—a clearing he had used for over one thousand years—was not long, but it did twist many times over, and it was filled with life. All of it was familiar except for one curly-haired hobbit who was perched on top of a reasonably-sized rock beneath a tree. It was not Bilbo, the hobbit with whom Legolas was most familiar, but one of the younger variety who had traveled with Bilbo's cousin. Legolas smiled at the light red curls sprouting out of the small head with its closed eyes and contented lips, the latter detail being curved around a narrow pipe, from which smoke arose in a wispy trail that lead into the tallest trees. The hobbit's nose and cheeks were a rosy red, and Legolas could not say if it was a normal feature or if it was because of the cold. He folded his long body into a crouch to more easily meet eyes with the young hobbit and smiled merrily, 'Greetings, young one. You are Pippin, are you not? Pippin of the Shire?'

Long-lashed eyelids jumped open to reveal a pair of green eyes that appeared hazy through the smoke trailing out of the pipe, but bright and alive a moment later when the hobbit set the smoking device aside. 'Indeed, sir, I am Pippin. And you are Legolas. I am thrilled to meet you, sir!' He bowed low.

Legolas smiled and returned the gesture, then brushed long strands of hair back from his shoulders. 'How are you this day, Pippin? Are you enjoying the song of the trees?'

'Oh, yes, though mostly I am enjoying the pipeweed,' the hobbit said, eyes glittering.

'My people are familiar with this indulgence of yours, though we do not partake in it ourselves.'

Pippin was scandalised and immediately put out his pipe. 'I beg your pardon, sir, and crave your forgiveness for my rude behavior!'

'On the contrary, my friend, I was going to ask you if you would like to indulge in your pipe while joining me as I indulge in a bit of archery practise.'

'Oh,' Pippin said. 'Well, I suppose pipeweed is just as good anywhere else! Lead on, Legolas, and I will follow.'

The elf and the hobbit walked along the path, a strange pair for any eyes that found them. One was tall and lean, the other short and more rounded, but they laughed merrily together. Legolas checked his bow and began practise almost as soon as they reached the clearing, and Pippin found the downy turf much more comfortable than the abandoned rock in the path. He was constantly amazed with the elf's dexterity as he handled his bow. It was as if the weapon was an extension of his body, long and sleek as elven limbs, and just as dangerous. They talked idly about the company and its goals, and it wasn't long before the inevitable question was posed by Pippin to Legolas.

'How long have you known Strider?'

Legolas smiled and loosed another arrow. 'I have known him for many years. I saw him as a baby who grew into a child, an adolescent, and then the man we both now know.'

The hobbit did nothing to disguise his surprise and only said, 'I know about elves being old and all, but I suppose I never really thought about _how_ old. That's a very long time to know a person.'

'It's not as long as you think, my friend.'

Bells rang high and clear signaling meal time, and the pair broke off their conversation. Pippin helped Legolas gather his arrows from the targets before they walked back up the path. Legolas was lost in deep thought, though he didn't show it much, and Pippin chatted merrily about how excited he was to see new places. Dinner moved on similarly, so rich and merry that, unless one knew to notice it, one would miss the frightening anxiety painted on all faces except a very few who were either too ignorant of the danger that lay ahead or too solemn to show it.

There was one face that stood out to Legolas, though, and not because of its ignorance or passivity. Aragorn was sitting quietly in a corner, idly fingering the hilt of a dagger. His eyes were not empty of fear, but Legolas knew it wasn't the Dark Lord that haunted his estranged friend. The elf immediately recognised it as a self loathing fear of what could happen. Feeling Legolas' stare, Aragorn regarded his friend coolly, then stood to retreat to a balcony. Legolas excused himself and followed, finally feeling that the time had come where they could not avoid talking any longer.

The night air was cold, but Legolas didn't feel it, and if it bothered Aragorn, he made no mention or sign of his trouble. The man leaned with his elbows on a carved railing. 'Hello, Legolas,' he said.

'Good evening, Aragorn.'

Silence filled the space between them for a long while, settling into a comfortable compliance of wills. Neither would mention Aragorn's previous trespass, but Aragorn did speak. 'I thought you would break your neck.'

'Pardon, my friend?'

'Years ago, on this balcony, I nearly died myself watching you fall,' he said, smiling oddly. 'I thought you would hit the grass and your neck would break; I thought I would look down and see you shattered among the flowers.'

Legolas laughed, recalling the incident. 'You always fear the worst.'

'Oughtn't we all?' Aragorn wasn't smiling anymore, and his knuckles whitened as he gripped the railing. 'Gandalf fears it.'

'Indeed, Aragorn. Indeed, he does fear it. But he does not despair.'

'I do not understand your meaning.'

Legolas placed a pale hand on the shoulder of his friend and leaned so that they could meet eyes. 'Gandalf's fears are true and real because he understands better than any of the wisest elves or men what could come to pass,' he said. 'You, though, Aragorn, fear because you lack hope. You do not believe that we can possibly overcome the Dark Lord because you do not believe that _you_ can overcome what you believe to be inside you. My people know what it means if you succeed or if you fail, and there is little hope for us in either event, but you, _Estel_,' Legolas said, smiling, 'you lack perfect knowledge of what is to be, and without knowledge of the future, one cannot be allowed to despair. You cannot know for certain that you will fail or succeed, and so you cannot allow yourself to be overtaken with hopelessness.' The elf's eyes were clear and shining, and Aragorn's face softened as he heard the final words his friend would gift him with that night, 'That is the path to failure. Respect the fear you have, but do not empower it. Go beyond what you believe will happen to what you believe is possible, and find within yourself the hope you will need to overcome the darkness.'

The elf walked away, then, and though he didn't see it, a glimmer of hope appeared in his friend's eyes for the first time since he was old enough to understand his history.


End file.
